


Remind Me Of What Is Gone

by WondrousWendy, Zath



Series: An Archive of Longing [1]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Canon Blending, Grief, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Requited Unrequited Love, Tragic Romance, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2020-08-19 01:56:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20201857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WondrousWendy/pseuds/WondrousWendy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zath/pseuds/Zath
Summary: Fate has never been on Khadgar's side. All he has ever wanted is a steady place to call home among people who enjoy his company. Every time he thinks he has found it, fate seems to have other plans in store.Cursed from birth with the powers of the Guardian and the burdens that come with it, Medivh has known all his life that no happy ending is in store for him. One day, he will lose his battle against great evil, and the last vestiges of himself will burn to ash.





	1. Every End Is A New Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for tuning in to our story! This piece is a prequel to the fic _To The Victor Go The Spoils_.

Khadgar started from humble beginnings as the youngest child in a family of farmers. There was only one expectation placed on him: to carry on his family’s work. He was supposed to enjoy a safe, simple life, one in which he would live and work at the behest of the seasons, with few other cares in the world. Yet, fate cast its die and set his future down a very different path. 

One day out in the fields while working with his older brother, Khadgar tried to impress him with the ability to transform one of their sheep into another working horse to help plow the soil. The transformation was successful, in practice, but the sheep-turned-horse panicked, bucked frantically, and kicked his brother square in the chest. All Khadgar could do was desperately attempt to reign in the animal and soothe its fears long enough to transform the creature back into its original form. By that time, the commotion had caught the attention of his parents and other siblings. 

A mage from the heralded city of Dalaran arrived shortly after to take Khadgar away. In those days in between, Khadgar felt more frightened and alone than he had ever felt before. His family kept their distance, and reluctantly Khadgar kept his, unable to trust himself to stay in control of his magic. He wondered what would become of him; he knew of other young boys and girls who had been taken from their families and were never heard from again. When the Kirin Tor mage arrived at his home, Khadgar tearfully watched as his family, the people who had once loved him, turned from him effortlessly. He would never return to the simple life he once led. He made a promise to himself that he would never cast magic so carelessly again. He would only use magic to help and protect others and not for self-gain. 

Under the watchful violet eye of the Kirin Tor, Khadgar took his studies seriously, perhaps too seriously. Never one for passing on a challenge, Khadgar sought to learn everything he could about the intricacies of magic. He wanted an answer to every question his mind could conjure. Why was the proper way to cast levitate done with both hands, when other arcane techniques could be cast with one? Would he always be limited to casting magic within the confines of drawn runes on the floor? And sometimes such questions placed him in hot water with his teachers. The elder magi grew tired of explaining themselves over and over, and they loathed his inquiries, innocent as they were. 

Khadgar knew his teachers and even other apprentices gossiped about him. Yet, he couldn’t help himself. He enjoyed doing research, and he often spent his free time trying to solve puzzles that stumped his peers. As he grew into his teenage years, his curiosity blossomed twofold. He took an interest in more complex spellcasting, but he also realized he had a habit of uncovering secrets about his teachers and fellow students. Indulging his mischievous interest in eavesdropping and learning more than he should have about others snowballed quickly. Khadgar was talented at excavating the unknown, but he was hardly stealthy. He made enemies faster than he made friends among the Kirin Tor. 

Eventually, the elders of the Kirin Tor no longer had the patience to deal with Khadgar’s meddlesome curiosity. 

Khadgar heard their conspiratorial whispers before they even confronted him. He was surprised the council members decided against locking him away in the Violet Hold. Instead, they agreed upon sending him to a place known as Karazhan. 

Khadgar had heard of Karazhan before, but only in hushed whispers among his peers. Many students had been sent to study there in the past, and of those few who returned… they were never the same. It seemed as though the elders didn’t care whether Khadgar lived or died. They preferred the latter; if he managed to survive, however, they hoped Khadgar’s knack for snooping could be put to use to spy on Karazhan’s infamous owner—the grand magus Medivh, Guardian of Azeroth. 

Before being formally ordered to leave, Khadgar tried to uncover anything he could find about Medivh inside of Dalaran’s grand library and its archives. He found very little, to his surprise. Most mages had something of a grand history, at least a footnote at best, but Medivh… Khadgar unearthed nothing of note. 

When at last his instructors summoned Khadgar to give him his new assignment, they spoke of the Guardian as if he was anything but Azeroth’s greatest protector. To Khadgar, it sounded as though his new master would be his doom. 

In some ways, the elders of the Kirin Tor had been right. However, in the ways that mattered most, they had been terribly wrong. 

x X x

The journey to Karazhan is long and arduous. First, Khadgar takes a long, stormy trip by boat from a port in Gilneas down the coast to Stormwind. Then, in the Alliance capital, he purchases the services of an old chestnut mare who is past her prime but has a calm temperament. Upon leaving Stormwind, he notices a shadow of a raven soaring overhead, and the creature seems to follow him. It’s almost as if it’s watching him, and at night, around his small campfire, Khadgar can see its red eyes glowing in the tree line. 

In Elwynn Forest he meets a couple headed to Stormwind whose cart is caught in a ditch. He stops and is more than happy to help rectify their situation with some basic spells. Appreciative of his efforts, they offer him their thanks with delight and even share a piece of their homemade pumpkin pie. It’s delicious, and the small gesture manages to put a small smile on his face and helps him forget his worries, at least for a moment. 

The rest of his trip is uneventful. Khadgar practices his spells every time he stops to rest, and he rereads his books while his horse trots along. There’s no telling what Medivh will pose as his first challenge upon his arrival, and he knows better than to let his studies lapse before the true tests begin.

Khadgar finds himself awed when he first sees Karazhan on the horizon. The tall ivory tower stands in the middle of a forested valley that distinctly contrasts with the nearby glades of Elwynn and the red-rock vistas of the Redridge Mountains. The surrounding environment appears relatively normal, with tall oaks and pines and a small river meandering through its canyon. What sets apart this leg of his journey, however, is the lack of wildlife and villagers. A strange fell wind whispers through the trees, and at night, the dense canopy of branches and leaves make the woods darker and more ominous. All Khadgar can do is rely upon the warm glow of the fire and the strange presence of the two red eyes that continue to watch his every move. 

On the evening before his inevitable arrival, a terrible storm passes through the valley. Apparently there is _just_ enough room in the mess of branches and leaves for rain to pour heavily down upon his campsite. He scrambles to construct a makeshift tent with his traveling cloak and a few sparse sticks to protect himself and his horse from becoming drenched. Magic can do much to assist the weary, but preventing the natural misfortune of being trapped in bad weather is another matter entirely.

As he shivers underneath his cloak on the hard ground, Khadgar notices the familiar presence of the mysterious raven perched atop a nearby tree. He can’t tell if this is the same strange bird that has followed him throughout his journey, but regardless, whatever it may be, he finds its continued appearance oddly comforting. He can’t help but pity the poor bird, however ominous of an omen it may represent, and with a sad smile, he pats the ground beside him. The bird tilts its head, its eyes almost unnaturally piercing, but it does not accept his invitation. 

“I promise I won’t hurt you. I just don’t want you to get soaked.”

Further attempts go nowhere. The bird sits stubbornly upon its branch, and Khadgar can’t help but feel more and more pathetic. With a dejected sigh, he gives up, hanging his head. 

“I can’t even make friends with birds.” 

Khadgar looks back at the bird and laughs hollowly. He doesn’t know why the small rejection causes his chest to ache. Maybe it would be better to get used to not being close to anyone or anything. Maybe it was time to stop trying to make friends. After all, his family didn’t want him, the Kirin Tor didn’t want him, and who knew what would happen once he actually made it to Karazhan. He’d go to his grave and no one would even shed a tear. Not even the woman who brought him into this world. A choked sob catches in his throat and his blue eyes fill with tears. 

“What’s the point? I really am hopeless. I matter to nothing and no one, so why should you care?” His bottom lip quivers as he stares up at the raven. “I could drop dead in this forest and no one would remember me. In fact, it would probably be better that way.” His voice falls to a soft whimper. “Khadgar the Nuisance would be out of everyone’s hair at long last.” 

He brings his knees to his chest, covers his face in his hands, and sobs. As he revels in his own self-loathing, Khadgar hears the flap of wings over the blustering wind. Good, now even the _raven_ is leaving him. Except, a moment later, he feels the gentle prickle of talons and the weight of the raven upon his shoulder. He lifts his head and gets his first real look at the raven that he is now certain has followed him from Stormwind. With beautiful black feathers and eyes the color of garnets, it tilts its head with curiosity. 

Khadgar wipes his eyes and smiles sadly. “Well I suppose it's good then that you’re not a vulture or I might be worried you were sizing up your next meal.”

The bird hops off of his shoulder to settle on the ground beside him. It gives Khadgar a peculiar look, as if he has offended it with the avian comparison, and he can’t help but laugh at his own joke quietly. He folds his arms over his knees, lays his head against them, and starts to drift off to sleep. 

The next day, Khadgar wakes with a butterflies in his stomach. He’s surprised to find the raven stayed with him through the night but has since returned to its perch in the trees. It’s to be expected, it is a wild animal after all. What a silly thing to hope he would wake and find it still beside him. 

Khadgar cleans up his campsite and collects his belongings before setting out on the last portion of his trip. However, to his dismay, the storm has continued into the morning hours. Khadgar has a schedule to adhere to, and no amount of foul weather can slow him down. With his wet cloak pulled around him, he guides his horse through the muddied road to Karazhan. The raven follows after him. 

Never before has he been this nervous. Even after an hour of riding, the churning feeling in his gut doesn’t abate as the forest begins to thin out. The tower comes into full view, and its stone structure appears more intimidating in person than from afar. Small turrets jutt out from various areas with stained glass windows. The grounds outside are bleak and grim, with a graveyard and mausoleum in walking distance from the entrance. 

Khadgar hops off his horse and pulls her toward the gate. His heart starts to thud with every step. Fears and worries race through his head as he holds his horse’s reins in a tight grip. What will Medivh be like? Will he be friendly and helpful? What if he doesn’t like him? What if he doesn’t want an apprentice, let alone Dalaran’s number one reject? What will he do if he’s eventually kicked out? The Kirin Tor won’t take him back, surely. 

Lightning strikes and thunder answers back with a loud crack, causing Khadgar’s horse to grow unsteady. He soothes its soaked mane and tries to calm her down with a few words of assurance. It isn’t easy—he’s just as frightened. All he can do is take a deep breath and hope for the best. 

The caw of a raven stirs Khadgar from his internal pep-talk. He furrows his brows and watches as the bird flies ahead of him towards the large wooden door to Karazhan. What happens next threatens to unhinge Khadgar’s jaw. 

With a flurry of feathers and a strange violet miasma, the raven disappears and a man stands in its place. He’s tall and lithe, and he wears elegant black and crimson robes adorned with feathers. A traveling cloak drapes over his shoulders and a hood covers his face. He wields a long wooden staff with a raven idol perched atop it. The man turns to look at Khadgar and pulls back his hood with ring-adorned hands. He has long black hair pulled back with a small piece of ribbon and well-groomed facial hair. His features are sharp, handsome. Piercing green eyes meet his. 

“Come, hurry inside before you catch cold. I’ll have my stable master handle your horse.” 

Khadgar can only stare ahead in both awe and mortification. He can barely form words. He thought his mind was racing with questions moments before, but now… 

“Are… Are you…?” 

“Medivh? Yes. There’s no need to gawk.” He gestures dismissively toward Khadgar. “Remove your boots before you step into the main hall. Moroes hates mud being tracked in.” 

When Khadgar doesn’t move, Medivh glances back toward him and smirks. 

“Not quite what you expected, hm?” Medivh chuckles and winks at him. “Would you have preferred a curmudgeonly old man instead?” 

A blush of embarrassment spreads across Khadgar’s face. 

“N-No, sir, I…” 

“Good. Now you and I have much to discuss and I will not have this conversation on my doorstep in the middle of a downpour. Off with your boots, then I’ll have Moroes draw you a bath. I know for a fact you did not have time to look after yourself on the road.” Medivh turns and walks into Karazhan. “I will not have any visitor of mine looking so disheveled in my halls.”

Khadgar, too dumbstruck by the situation to form proper sentences, follows Medivh inside.


	2. The Library of Horrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tasked by Medivh to organize Karazhan's main library, Khadgar discovers why many of the previous students sent by the Kirin Tor have never come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoy this chapter, let us know your thoughts!

Despite his youth, many moments in Khadgar’s life have been filled with uncertainty. Yet, during all of those situations, the circumstances were never life and death. Here in Karazhan, however, Khadgar fears Medivh may actually be trying to kill him—or perhaps, the tower is trying to, on its master’s behalf.

After entering the tower, Khadgar had tried to introduce himself properly but the Guardian had interrupted him as soon as he started to speak. 

_From the Kirin Tor you say?_ Medivh had waved his hand dismissively. _Organize the library. Do not bother me until that task is done._

Easier said than done.

At first glance, the Guardian’s library seemed typical: messy, lacking organization, and riddled with cobwebs. In Dalaran, Khadgar spent enough time around the city’s main library to help himself to “adjusting” the classification and ordering of books in the collection in a way that made, in his opinion, more logical sense (his efforts, much like everything else he did in Dalaran, had been extremely unappreciated). Khadgar felt confident he could tackle Medivh’s request efficiently, to the point where he wondered why the magus would give him such a menial task. He thought nothing of Moroes’s rather strange goodbye when the castellan left the room—_You seem like a nice young man; I do hope you manage alright. Wear gloves when you handle the books on transmogrification and don’t look the novels in the eye._

Why would Moroes speak with such grim finality?

Khadgar realized that the musty library’s innocent, if rather unkempt, appearances belie greater dangers.

For starters, the books in the Guardian’s library are _alive_. Khadgar knows for certain he isn’t dreaming, and he certainly isn’t hallucinating. Many of the bestiaries have fleshy or furry covers, sharp teeth, gaping maws instead of pages, and a thirst for blood. Some books sing when opened, others shriek like a banshee if touched. The series of tomes on Azerothian history have a tendency to lecture so profoundly it makes nearby listeners become rather sleepy. The book on entomology sprouts wings, grows a stinger, and almost hurts Khadgar if not for a quick barrage of summoned arcane missiles. Bees. Why does it always have to be bees?

And of the volumes that are seemingly not sentient, there are other hazards. Khadgar learns quickly why there are strange scorch marks on the floor in front of certain stacks and why some shelves are covered in ash instead of dust. The series on pyromancy really does seek to teach a lesson—do not play carelessly with fire. By the time Khadgar reaches the tomes of transmogrification, he is all too willing to follow Moroes’s advice. He wears a pair of thick leather gloves, and the moment he touches the _Compendium on Bodily Transfiguration_, he watches as a thin layer of ice races up his glove but stops at his covered wrist. If it weren’t for Moroes, Khadgar knows for certain his hand would have become completely frozen solid.

...And the _novels_. The novels! Upon stepping near the tall stack of books, Khadgar can already hear their siren call. _Play with me, touch me, finger through my pages, spread me wide open, hit the books, slam me against the table_—on and on the illicit barrage of whispers goes, filling his thoughts and awakening parts of Khadgar he hoped to have moved on from after enduring his awkward teenage years. He doesn’t dare look at their “eyes,” which are little gems embedded in the spines, while categorizing them carefully by author. Why would anyone keep enchanted, lusting novels in their library?

Khadgar can certainly guess why some students sent to Medivh have never come back.

Moroes checks on him as he works, and each time, the castellan pokes his head in the doorframe, perhaps to see if its safe to enter the library. When he has assessed that everything appears as normal and safe as Karazhan may ever be, the castellan joins him inside with a rather cheerful mood. Moroes seems grateful, even relieved, and Khadgar can’t help but wonder if Moroes has ever witnessed the unpleasant injury—or worse, demise—of some of the former students.

Some queries are better left unanswered.

Over the course of two days, Khadgar builds a rapport with Moroes. Moroes kindly brings him three meals and finds him in the middle of the night hunched forward in the stacks or slumped against a desk. He helps him shuffle up the spiral staircase to his small quarters for rest.

On the third day, Khadgar begins to understand what is happening within the library. The books themselves are not enchanted or cursed; Karazhan _itself_ is the source of the distortions. He feels the significance of the arcane power here in this tower and how it pours out like geysers from ley lines buried beneath the foundation.

So, he continues working after finishing his original task—he tries to create protective wards within the library to allow the books to be safely used. The tomes have value, certainly, and should be treated with dignity. He considers using silencing spells on the objects themselves, but that plan would not protect future additions to the collection. No, he has to think more ambitiously.

Khadgar works with earnest interest and determination. Maybe he will not ultimately be allowed to stay at Karazhan; after all, his life has been quite tumultuous and he has never been able to stay in one place for long, but he hopes to help Medivh, Moroes, and any other future students sent to the tower after him, should he be removed or killed. Pride has nothing to do with his work when these books are dangerous and have hurt others before. This is all Khadgar has wanted to do—protect others with every fiber of his being.

Khadgar forgets the time. The day grows late, and he loses himself inside of the library and his work. He almost is too consumed in finishing the appropriate runic arrangements to hear the sound of the creaky door opening in the library’s main entrance area. Quickly, he completes the enchanted wards, and when he hears the voices of Medivh and his castellan, Khadgar eavesdrops and peers through the stacks to watch them.

“Tomorrow I will be traveling to Stormwind to speak with the king, and he will be expecting whatever information I can provide on the matter of outfitting his army to defend against the Fel. I’ll need the tomes on ancient Kaldorei magic, and perhaps the lexicon on—Moroes... There’s something different here.” A pause. “Did you rearrange my library?”

“No, sir. You tasked the boy with—"

“Boy? What boy?”

Moroes sighs. It’s almost as if he’s had this conversation before. “The young lad sent by the Kirin Tor a few days ago... You tasked him—as you always do with your prospective apprentices—with organizing your library.” 

“Ah. Right. Of course.”

“He has been taking three of Cook’s meals a day and has been working diligently. Hasn’t run out screaming or on fire.” Another pause. “Unless something has happened to him since.”

“Every time I ask one of those pesky Kirin Tor spies to rearrange this library, the problem tends to fix itself.” Medivh glances over his shoulder, and his gaze falls exactly to where Khadgar stands hidden among the neutralized books. “It doesn’t take a magus to realize someone’s blatantly eavesdropping. Come out and explain what you did.”

A chill runs down Khadgar’s spine. He gulps audibly and staggers over a nearby stool and rushes over to the library’s entrance. He tries to stand up straight, with confidence, but the burning gaze of the Guardian himself makes him feel as though he has shrunk to the size of an ant.

“So you managed to organize the collection safely.” Medivh pulls a book off one of the nearby shelves, and Khadgar recognizes the spine—it’s one of the most dangerous items he faced in this collection. “Typically these items react rather violently to those unaware of how to handle them.”

“Well, yes...” Khadgar scratches the back of his neck. “I realized that rather quickly. But it’s not the books themselves—or perhaps in some cases it is—but overall, uhm, it’s the tower, I think.”

Medivh raises a brow and repeats Khadgar’s summation, deadpan. “The tower, you think.” 

“I... I did as you asked Master Medivh, but I also came to the conclusion that the arcane magic of this tower is uh... wrong. No offense. Moroes explained to me that sometimes weird apparitions appear, doors disappear, hallways invert, and I discovered the books were cursed too. If I had to wager a guess, I believe the tower erm... doesn’t quite react in the same to you as it might to say Moroes or the uh... Kirin Tor apprentices, lets say.” 

When Medivh continues to stare at him expectantly without saying anything, Khadgar takes a deep breath and braces himself.

“I uhm... took the liberty of creating some wards here in the library.”

Medivh narrows his brows and blinks. “You what?”

“I-I just thought it might be safer for others if the library’s books didn’t try to incinerate them or gnaw their hands off. Maybe I’m about to be asked to leave, but I thought it might help protect the next apprentice the Kirin Tor sends.” 

It’s hard to read Medivh. He isn’t fuming, thankfully, but he’s clearly uncertain of what to make of Khadgar. Perhaps it’s a small blessing Khadgar’s managed to survive his explanation this long.

“Go easy on the poor lad. He seems to be made of sturdy, if inquisitive stock,” Moroes says before excusing himself from the library.

While he waits for his castellan to leave, Medivh drills his stare into Khadgar. If looks could kill, Khadgar wonders if he’d still be standing. 

“Show me where you inscribed these wards.”

Khadgar shows him where in the library he installed the magical protections with a thudding heart. So, maybe it wasn’t his greatest idea, taking matters as serious and personal as creating enchanted wards in another man’s personal library. The whole endeavor didn’t feel risky to Khadgar; in fact, the tower almost seemed to welcome his magic. However, he can see how it might come across as intrusive and reckless. He was, after all, only a guest. He wasn’t Medivh’s apprentice, regardless of what the Kirin Tor proclaimed.

The library has grown quite still and quiet compared to the space Khadgar encountered over the course of the past two days. Medivh stands before him, his hand outstretched over one of the wards drawn on the library’s walls. The glow of arcane energy fills this area with bright purple and blue lights, and when Medivh places his palm over the cool stone, the wards spring to life, pulsing gently.

Khadgar’s thoughts drift towards the negative. Perhaps because of his arrogance, he’s about to be evicted from Karazhan. He wonders what he’ll do, then. Sure, he survived what so many other Kirin Tor students succumbed to, but what would he do after? The Kirin Tor didn’t want him. If Medivh didn’t, then he would surely find himself running off to join the carnies of the Darkmoon Faire. Maybe he would become something of a charlatan palm reader or who knows, maybe he wouldn’t even fit in among oddities. Maybe he would become nothing more than a homeless vagrant.

Medivh’s hand retracts from the ward, and he slowly turns to face Khadgar with a fierce expression upon his handsome face as his eyes burn brightly with magic. 

“I’m trying to decide if you truly are incredibly naive enough to think tampering with my tower would earn you something other than suspicion, or if you are perhaps the most stupid spy the Kirin Tor has ever sent that you would blatantly admit to tampering. Further, you either see yourself as so delusionally talented with the arcane you felt arrogant enough to try, or you took a reckless risk because you thought it might, what, _impress me?_”

“I... I didn’t see it as tampering, sir. And I legitimately wanted to stop the books from erm... coming to life and hurting others.” Khadgar takes a deep breath and steadies himself. “I wouldn’t presume to think the Guardian of Azeroth would be impressed by mere cataloguing and the creation of wards.”

Silence follows Khadgar’s moment of defiance. However, before Khadgar’s resolve falters, Medivh closes his eyes and throws back his head with a loud chuckle. “Naive _and_ reckless.” He shakes his head. “Do you really think I hadn’t considered protective wards to attempt to silence the influence of magic here?”

“I didn’t mean to presume at all...”

“Yet you did by following through with it.” Medivh points his finger at Khadgar. “You’re damn lucky lad Karazhan didn’t immediately incinerate you upon even trying.”

Khadgar laughs nervously. “Perhaps your tower likes me?”

Medivh snorts derisively. “First my castellan, now my tower?” He gestures back toward the runes. “They will hold for some time, but eventually they will wear off. You attempted to bandage a chronic illness. They will need to be regularly checked upon and reinscribed.”

“Is... Uhm...” Khadgar swallows thickly, and he meets Medivh’s green eyes. “Is that your way of telling me I’m allowed to stay?” He asks softly.

The air of austerity from Medivh dissipates. He offers a crooked smile to Khadgar.

“I suppose for now I’ll permit it. After all, you did rearrange my library. You’ll have to explain where you’ve moved everything.” Medivh moves to leave, but stops when he stands beside Khadgar. He places a hand upon his shoulder. “It seems my tower has taken pity on you, Young Trust.”

“‘Young Trust’?”

“Does the Kirin Tor not even bother with teaching you fledglings other languages?” Medivh snickers. “Your name means ‘trust’ in Dwarven, Khadgar.” 

“I... I didn’t know.”

“Find Moroes and tell him you have my permission to stay. He will situate you with proper quarters. Get some rest. Tomorrow I’ll have you conduct some research for me.” Medivh looks into Khadgar’s wide blue eyes. “One final thing. Do be careful, in the future. Your bleeding heart might end up hurting you someday.”


	3. Let the Games Begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Medivh tasks Khadgar with a test of endurance, to see what the young Kirin Tor apprentice knows about magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait. Eager to restart progress with this story! We hope you enjoy!

“I think before we move forward, I will need to see what exactly the Kirin Tor has taught you. I surely hope you already know most of the basics with regard to magic.”

“I mean, I know a few spells from each spell-casting school, arcane, fire, and frost.” 

“Narrow definitions note three schools of magic; there are several more beyond that.” 

Medivh doesn’t mean to sound so pedantic, but he can’t help himself. Young Khadgar fidgets and squirms underneath his austere gaze, and Medivh finds himself in the position of a marionette. Khadgar is in his domain and under his tutelage now. Moroes only had to remind him once or thrice about actually following through with his lukewarm commitment to Khadgar’s training.

And so, this is where they have found themselves for the day: creating a baseline understanding of what exactly Khadgar knows about magic. 

Medivh sits in a plush chair dressed in a fine black and crimson robe with his legs crossed. He holds a half-filled wine glass in his hand, and his gaze falls to Khadgar who stands before him in the main library of Karazhan. Khadgar looks nervous, with his dark hair tousled from oversleeping that morning. 

“Start with something simple. Can you conjure and control a ball of fire?”

“Are you sure you want me to use fire in the library of all places?”

Medivh raises a brow. “Are you trying to tell me you can’t control a simple fireball?”

Khadgar sighs, but despite questioning Medivh, he obeys the request and summons a perfectly contained flame in his hand.

“Good. Now transform it into frost.” 

Khadgar glances down at his palm and effortlessly turns the conjured flame into an orb of shifting ice. 

“Create a defensive barrier around yourself using this.”

Khadgar tosses the ball of ice into the air and expands it into a small shield of solid ice before him. 

“While maintaining this barrier, conjure something to eat.”

Khadgar blinks and gapes at him.

“You want me to make food while I—“

“You can eat in the library, Young Trust,” Medivh says with a smirk.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Having the endurance necessary to multi-task on the battlefield is critical if you intend to survive.”

With little effort, Khadgar summons a small muffin into his palm that has blueberries embedded into its crust. He offers it to Medivh while continuing to hold the shield of ice.

Medivh takes the conjured dessert and tears off a small piece to eat. It actually tastes better than he expected, considering Khadgar’s rather scrappy nature. He finds it as delicious as one of Cook’s.

“I’m more of a pumpkin man, myself.” Medivh takes a sip from his glass and then shrugs. “Though, I suppose it tastes better than I expected.”

“Can I drop the barrier now?”

“No, of course not. Are you getting tired already?”

“Well, no, but...”

“Create a portal to Dalaran while maintaining the barrier.”

Khadgar widens his stance and begins channeling significant arcane power through his hands, and with every second that passes, the mustered magic swirls around his body. A sweat breaks onto his brow, his eyes begin to brightly glow blue, and Medivh sits up to observe Khadgar closely.

“Widen the barrier of ice. Imagine having to ensure that a large party of medics and wounded soldiers need to retreat through the portal. They’re relying upon you to ensure that they make it to their correct destination in one piece.”

Khadgar grits his teeth, and now Medivh begins to see the exertion spread across the young man’s face. The barrier widens, the ice remaining as solid as before, and the portal appears, flickering into existence in the library. 

“Now hold the portal open and maintain the barrier. Summon another fireball but keep it contained to your hand.”

Khadgar, suddenly pushed to his limits, grunts and flexes his fingers, forcing fire to spark into his palm. He glances down nervously at the wispy flame and takes deep, heavy breaths.

“Master Medivh, I can’t—“

“Close the portal.”

The portal waivers, and the image and sounds of Dalaran distort wildly. Then, a moment later, the portal collapses in upon itself. The muscles in Khadgar’s neck strain, his face red from exertion.

“Maintain the barrier,” Medivh steeples his fingers, “but release the fireball towards me.”

“T-Towards you?!”

Medivh rolls his eyes. “If you are worried about my safety lad I assure you, you are of no threat to me.”

Khadgar has little extra energy to continue to question. The fireball releases from his hold and shoots toward Medivh, who snuffs out the flame with a mere snap of his fingers.

“Shift the barrier’s form into icicles and launch it at me as well.” Medivh instructs.

Khadgar blinks rapidly, narrows his brows, and then shakes his head—not in doubt that Medivh will protect himself, but because he can no longer maintain the barrier. The wall shatters violently, but with quick movements, Medivh stands, stopping the explosion of icy shards mid-air with his hand outstretched. Each piece superheats and evaporates before harming either of them.

Khadgar sways on his feet, raises his hand to touch his forehead, and staggers toward Medivh, who steps forward and catches him before he can tumble to the floor. 

“Take deep breaths.” Medivh commands. “Breathe in and out.”

Khadgar’s limp in his arms, heavy and trembling from exhaustion. Perhaps, he fears, he pushed the lad too far on the first day. No wonder the Kirin Tor wanted to send this student away. Khadgar may have incurred the ire of his teachers for his curiosity, but Medivh sees plainly that they must have held concerns about what he was capable of. Any pathetic excuse of a Kirin Tor archmage would have been unable to bring the lad down safely from the edge of overpowering himself. 

A chill races up his spine uncomfortably as a memory comes to him unbidden—a young boy, straining to contain magic far too powerful for him to control, a violent evocation of light, a scream, and then darkness. Medivh blinks the memory away and collects himself. 

“Hmm.” Medivh tilts his head and examines Khadgar closely. “I’m surprised,” he says quietly. “You lasted far longer than I thought you would.” 

“I don’t know if I should take that as a compliment to my skill,” Khadgar murmurs into his shoulder.

“You should be proud, lad. None of the other fools the Kirin Tor sent me even made it this far.”

Medivh helps Khadgar take a seat in his chair. He takes Khadgar’s trembling hands and turns them slowly, looking for any signs of damage from the magical bursts. To Medivh’s surprise, Khadgar’s hands are not as soft and smooth as he would have expected of a Dalaran apprentice. They are weathered, tanned from the sun, and the pads of his fingers have calluses. When he’s satisfied with his examination, Medivh pats Khadgar’s shoulder and offers the remainder of the mana muffin. 

“Next time you can practice casting with a proper staff and wand. Perhaps we can discuss more advanced types of magic such as transmogrification and polymorphs.” 

The lad stiffens in the chair. He looks up at Medivh with wide-eyed worry, and he swallows thickly and nods slowly. 

“O-Of course, sir.” 

“I’ll call for Moroes and he will show you to the mana pool, and you can recuperate there.”

Medivh turns away to leave, but stops in the library’s door frame. He feels Khadgar’s gaze linger upon him, and so he glances over his shoulder to meet those blue eyes. 

“If I ever ask you to do something you truly believe you cannot do, tell me.” 

The door closes behind him before Khadgar has a chance to respond.


	4. Down Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> War erupts on the borders of the kingdom of Stormwind, taking Medivh away from Karazhan and leaving Khadgar to practice magic on his own.

A month into Khadgar’s stay at Karazhan, war erupts along the borders of the Kingdom of Stormwind, and the Alliance needs its guardian. The military strategists and the king of Stormwind himself call upon Medivh, requesting his aid in the fight against the invading marauders. This leaves Khadgar often alone to study and practice magic for lengthy periods while his master is away.

Medivh hasn’t officially named Khadgar his apprentice, and though this simple detail shouldn’t truly bother him, the lack of a concrete label explaining his status within Karazhan makes him feel awkward. They have only had a few training sessions, if they can even be called that. Medivh ordered him to perform certain spells, each with increasing difficulty. He sat in his chair, watching Khadgar with curiosity and perhaps even amusement. Khadgar almost felt toyed with, as if Medivh wasn’t taking the task of teaching seriously.

The war takes Medivh frequently away, and Khadgar is left to his own devices. When not in the library, Khadgar spends time exploring Karazhan. He asks Moroes for a tour, and the response he receives astounds him—the typically sombre castellan absolutely lights up, eager to lead him around the ivory tower, candelabra in hand. Moroes seems intimately familiar with the magical tower and its long, winding history.

On the floor housing the large theater, dining hall, and ballrooms, Moroes explains that Karazhan once hosted many grand parties when Medivh was younger. Famous operas, musicals, and plays entertained esteemed guests. Karazhan once had a fully functional stable and a menagerie of beasts and magical creatures, now long since abandoned. There even is a room sized chess board where lively games often took place. Apparently Medivh is notoriously competitive, which Khadgar can believe. The tales Moroes tells of Karazhan’s host sound nothing like the Medivh Khadgar has interacted with over the past month. Yet, proof is all around him: ghostly visions play before Khadgar, almost on cue with the explanations Moroes provides. Khadgar sees, for himself, that indeed the master of Karazhan was once quite different—happier, especially. When they finish the tour of this particular floor, Moroes grows forlorn.

_Master Medivh lost much of his youth, I’m afraid. He contracted a mysterious illness upon reaching adulthood and fell into a coma. When he woke, many years had passed, taking the master’s penchant for hosting guests. Indeed, I think it took something from him, a joy he hasn’t ever been able to rediscover in the years since. His friends had grown older, moved on, started their careers and families. He missed all of those moments. He wasn’t able to grow alongside them. I think he felt like he was left behind._

The insight Moroes provides is valuable, and it spurs Khadgar to feel sorrow for Medivh. He imagines Medivh won’t want his pity.

Yet, Khadgar can feel something in the air around Karazhan, like a longing to be whole. He can’t understand how a tower could feel something, magical or otherwise, but when he places a hand to the stone walls of the main spiral staircase, he can feel Karazhan hum beneath his fingertips, very much alive.

The tours are good for Khadgar and Moroes. They fill the gaps in time when Medivh is gone. It takes their minds off of the worry they feel when the master does return, haggard, frustrated, and exhausted. Medivh doesn’t give Khadgar much direction when he returns regarding his studies.

So, in lieu of progressing his magical aptitude, Khadgar tries to be interested in Medivh’s work, to learn about the war and how he could potentially help, for he is a mage, after all. He may be rather unskilled, but he’s a student of Dalaran, and he knows the history of mages past—the Council of Tirisfal protected Azeroth when she needed their aid.

To his dismay, Medivh chooses to be dismissive about what Khdagar could offer, and his explanations about what’s happening outside the canyon of Deepwind Pass are vague, but dire.

In the end, Khadgar assumes he should be grateful that Medivh at least checks up on him periodically; he hasn’t been completely forgotten, but it’s also entirely possible Moroes simply reminds the guardian of his existence from time to time.

Deep down, Khadgar knows he should be thankful he’s allowed to continue to be able to stay at Karazhan. He knows now that the tower hasn’t taken in new residents, let alone guests, in many years. Yet, he can’t help but feel lonely and useless. He’s eighteen, on the edge of nineteen, and if he was still a student in Dalaran, he would certainly be graduating soon. Instead, he doesn’t know for certain what the future holds.

x X x

Khadgar strikes up a game of regular sized chess with Moroes after dinner one evening. They spend the majority of the time talking, laughing, and enjoying a warm cup of tea. The matches they play are friendly, with neither of them actively trying to win. Khadgar can tell the castellan appreciates the fresh company, especially the lighthearted conversation. Even the atmosphere of Karazhan seems different—with a warm fire in the study’s hearth, the tower feels less macabre and more whimsical, like something out of an old fairytale. For Khadgar, Karazhan is beginning to feel like a home.

“So I told Sir Lothar and King Wrynn, they simply cannot track mud through the ballroom ever again! Ah, those boys must have spent the better half of a week cleaning the hall—Medivh refused to use magic. I did not think I would ever see the King of Stormwind himself cleaning the floors until they were spick and span, but no job was beneath him. I could tell that impressed Master Medivh.” 

“And we have been friends ever since.” 

Khadgar almost jumps from his chair. He spins around and sees the man himself leaning against the doorframe of the study, arms folded across his chest. 

“Ah, sir, it’s good to see you've returned safely. Shall I take your cloak for you?” 

“Thank you Moroes, but I’ve been back for some time.” 

Khadgar’s never seen a man grow pale faster than Moroes. 

“Oh dear, I apologize for not greeting you. We must have lost track of the time.” 

“Pay it no mind. I didn’t think I would be returning tonight, but I needed to begin work on a potion to help ward the soldiers against the invaders attacks.” Medivh runs a hand over his beard, eyes falling closed momentarily. “Tomorrow, though. I’m far too tired.” 

“Would you like me to ask Cook to prepare you some dinner?” 

“No, that will not be necessary. Though, perhaps some tea. There are some things I need to speak with Khadgar about.” 

Moroes excuses himself from the chess table and heads out of the study at a brisk pace. Khadgar can tell he takes great pride in his job, and he can’t blame him. He admires Medivh and has known him for many years. 

Once Moroes is gone, Medivh takes a seat at the table and starts to inspect the state of the pieces on the table with intense interest. Khadgar doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even dare breathe. 

“What a strange series of plays. I know Moroes can do better than this. He was going easy on you.” 

Khadgar can’t help but sweat. “We… uh… We were just playing for fun.”

“‘Playing for fun’, hm? While I slave away on Stormwind’s borders fighting a war?” 

Khadgar swallows thickly. Is Medivh mad? He would have gone out to the front if only he would let him come along! 

With a wave of his hand, Medivh resets the chessboard. His gaze flickers to Khadgar, and with a sly smirk, he gestures to Khadgar’s side of the board. 

“I suppose if you win, I’ll forgive you.” 

Khadgar can’t help but feel like he’s being toyed with no differently than predators play with their prey. Every comment Moroes has made in the last several days about Medivh’s competitive nature echoes in his head. He can’t tell if Medivh’s genuinely angry or teasing him. 

Khadgar decides to bet on the latter. He smiles half-heartedly and nods. 

“I suppose that’s proper incentive to try my best.” 

Medivh watches him carefully, and Khadgar can’t help but feel reminded of his journey to Karazhan—red eyes in the forest following his every move. Medivh pulls off his cloak, feeling the warmth of the hearth now that he’s settled in, and reveals what he wears underneath—a loose, billowy black tunic with a long ‘v’ down his chest and a pair of dark, well-tailored trousers. 

So Khadgar takes a deep breath. He reaches for one of his pawns and moves it two spaces forward.

“Ah, I see. A rather ambitious first move. Feeling confident, hm?” 

Khadgar groans internally. All he did was move a pawn! What else was he supposed to do! 

Medivh moves one of his knights forward. Khadgar licks his lips, watching with bated breath. He decides to mirror Medivh’s play and moves one of his own knights. 

“Oh dear Khadgar,” Medivh murmurs, as if he’s mourning a loss. “I do wonder what’s racing through that head of yours.” 

So this is how it’s going to be? Will every play be commented upon? 

The game unfolds. Medivh takes his time with every turn, and Khadgar tries to think steps ahead but is thwarted at every turn. Khadgar tries to play defensively at first, but he finds himself constantly on the back foot. He begins losing pieces. Moroes returns to the study with Medivh’s tea, and when he takes one glance at the board’s state, he sighs sadly, pats Khadgar on the shoulder, then bids them a good night. 

When Khadgar starts playing more aggressively, Medivh lets out a soft laugh. 

“Check.”

“Hmm,” Medivh strokes his beard. “Feeling desperate now, are we?” 

Khadgar rolls his eyes and folds his arms across his chest. “I believe it's _your_ turn, master, and your king is in check.”

“Sass won’t help you, I’m afraid.” 

Medivh effortlessly outmaneuvers Khadgar’s new strategy. It’s at this point that Khadgar resigns himself to taking a loss and instead refocuses his attention elsewhere: upon Medivh himself. 

Khadgar has never seen the man more intense, more determined. Moroes understated Medivh’s spirit of competition—Medivh seems obsessed with finding the perfect play. And yet, this is also the most he has ever seen Medivh smile or laugh. Sure, some of his laughter is at Khadgar’s expense, but Khadgar takes no offense to it. From the lines marring Medivh’s face and the weight in those green eyes, Khadgar can tell his master needed a distraction from the war. 

“I admire your diligence to think ahead, Young Trust, but even when you mean to play aggressively, you are far too concerned about protecting each piece. Sometimes you have to be willing to sacrifice one pawn to protect another.” 

“I tend to see the value in every piece.” 

“Of course, this isn’t about whether one piece is superior to another; each piece must work in harmony with the others. The heart of chess is synergizing each piece’s abilities with one another.” 

“Does it also involve psychological warfare with your opponent?” 

“You wound me, Young Trust,” Medivh says with a hearty laugh. He grins and takes his turn, moving his rook to take Khadgar’s last remaining knight. “I simply enjoy a good bit of banter.” 

Khadgar can see the endgame coming. He’s running out of pieces, and Medivh smells the blood in the water. His poor troops, falling at the wayside. He should worry more about the game given the stakes, but he can’t seem to care—there’s something about the way Medivh studies not only the board, but himself too. Khadgar sits there, feeling like an open book, and Medivh is skimming through his pages, learning his secrets as if he can ascertain them from a mere board game. Those green eyes are piercing. He feels seen and noticed in a way he’s never felt before—as if Medivh wants to unravel who he is from the inside out. 

Then, Khadgar’s thoughts take an abrupt turn towards… attraction. It doesn’t help that Medivh has freshly cleaned himself up. His black beard is well trimmed, and his hair is tied back, out of his face. He’s wearing some kind of spiced cologne or lotion, maybe it’s whatever he washed with. The ‘v’ of his tunic offers a tantalizing glimpse, but it’s hardly enough. How would Medivh look lounging around, a book in hand, his dark hair down, splayed around his shoulders? He saw a younger Medivh enjoying wild parties, stunning crowds with extraordinary feats of magical skill and splendor with the help of Karazhan’s visions. Certainly Medivh’s a spry, well-manicured older man with a devilish smile, but Khadgar can’t help but wonder what Medivh would look like with fewer worries on his shoulders, resting quietly, his guard down.

_Those are perfectly normal intrusive thoughts to have about your master, certainly. Good job, Khadgar,_ he scolds himself. 

“Well, I’m afraid I’m going to have to claim checkmate, Young Trust.” 

Khadgar blinks and looks down at the board. Medivh’s right, his king is in checkmate, fair and square. He lost. 

“That was a good try.” Medivh’s eyes raise to meet Khadgar’s, and a soft smile appears on his face. “You played well. I appreciate the good game.” He leans back in his chair and studies Khadgar. “I’ve played against many people over the years, Khadgar, and I must say, you show great potential. I mean that.” 

Khadgar’s eyes widen. His heart suddenly skips in his chest, and he feels flustered under that penetrating gaze. His cheeks burn, and Khadgar coughs awkwardly to try and hide the color in his face. 

“T-Thank you, master.”

Medivh resets the board and then stands from his chair, heading for the door. Now, Khadgar gets a full look at him. He can’t help himself. He lingers upon Medivh longer than any apprentice rightfully should. He may have lost, but perhaps it was worth it to see Medivh more at ease, if only for a short while. 

“Relax, Khadgar,” Medivh says with a crooked smile as he glances over his shoulder in the doorway. “Please, call me simply by my name—Medivh. I’m not _that_ old, and there are far too many people who already call me by my titles.” He sighs and runs a hand over his dark hair. Then, his expression softens. “You do know I was merely joking earlier, yes? I’m glad you and Moroes are spending time together. It’s good to know quiet moments like this can still exist during times like these.” 

“Don’t forget to take care of yourself, Medivh. Azeroth may have her guardian, but even her guardian should take time for his own needs…” Khadgar finds himself speaking with fewer inhibitions. “He should have someone he can talk to, vent to, someone who will listen...”

“Oh, is that so?” Medivh turns to face him fully, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Are you offering to be the keeper of my secrets, Young Trust?”

Khadgar blinks, his lungs suddenly devoid of all breath. He stares hopelessly at Medivh, who offers him a wink. With one mere glance, with one smoothly stated question, the intrusive thoughts return with severity—in an instant, he imagines himself enveloped in Medivh’s arms, hot breath against his neck, a ghost of a smile pressed against his skin, all while he listened to Medivh murmur his desires, his needs to _him_, the keeper of Medivh’s secrets—

“Get some sleep, Khadgar. You look like you need it.” 

Khadgar jolts out of his trance and stumbles to his feet. He stands upright and feels warm in the face, like he’s just run for miles. He bites his lip. 

“Uhm, yeah. Right. Good night.” 

Khadgar bolts out of the library, briskly walking in the opposite direction of Medivh towards his quarters. He takes the spiral staircase two steps at a time, his heart thudding erratically in his chest. He doesn’t dare look over his shoulder to see if Medivh has pursued him. He feels that gaze follow him until it cannot any longer. 

Once he’s safely in his quarters, Khadgar slams the door shut and slumps against the heavy wood until he sits on the floor, knees pulled to his chest. He cups his jaw and tries desperately to figure out what happened, reviewing every detail of the evening. He closes his eyes, slows his breathing, and leans forward, burrowing his head in his hands as if it will hide his shame. 

At least Medivh thinks he’s nervous over the outcome of the game and not well… other things. He’s grateful for that. Those thoughts during the match and after? They’re the products of an overactive imagination. He’s been told he’s a hopeless dreamer. He’s just tired. He’s spent a little over a month in Karazhan. He hasn’t been around his peers in that time. It’s perfectly normal to form crushes on people you spend lengthy amounts of time with—after all, who could resist someone as handsome as Medivh?

x X x

Thankfully, the next day, Medivh leaves once more to return to the front and doesn’t return for several days. In the master’s absence, Khadgar throws himself once more into his studies and avoids the lower floors where Karazhan plays wicked games on him, showing him visions of a happier Medivh. He writes off what happened the night of the chess game as simply the result of a twinge of loneliness. Though he had few friends in Dalaran, Khadgar never felt alone, not really. There were always places he could go to overhear a friendly conversation, always other students to practice and mingle with, and there were always books to take his mind off of how ostracized he felt. Here, in Karazhan, the only conversations he can overhear are those between Cook and Moroes or the old scenes from the past that play before his very eyes. There are no other students to train with. And of the books, well, he’s now diving into the novels instead of textbooks.

Time passes. When Medivh returns to the tower, they do not repeat their evening in the study. Medivh’s too tired, too exhausted, too determined to work late into the night on whatever tasks the Alliance asks him to accomplish. It’s in those moments when Khadgar decides to make use of his old skills as a notorious eavesdropper. He listens in on what Medivh and Moroes talk about, and Khadgar learns a little about what the Alliance faces on the front. The casualties have been high, and in those brief glimpses of Medivh, he can see the terrible toll the war is taking on him. 

One evening Medivh is there, the next, he’s gone, little more than a shade to haunt Karazhan.

x X x

Khadgar’s in the middle of reading up on the history of the Kaldorei empire when Medivh bursts into the library wearing his traveling robes and carrying his staff. He looks around the library, his green eyes darting from one end to the other until he locates Khadgar, who sits cross-legged on the floor with a plate of mana muffins at his side.

“No eating in the library.”

Khadgar almost chokes on his muffin.“You… Didn’t you literally eat during our last magic lesson?”

Medivh rolls his eyes. “Do as I say, not as I do.” He walks over to where Khadgar sits and gently taps the head of his staff, Atiesh, against Khadgar’s shoulder. “Gather your staff and traveling cloak.”

Khadgar scrambles onto his feet in a sudden wide-eyed panic. Is he being asked to leave? Did… Did Medivh find out about... Khadgar tries to hide the color rising in his cheeks. 

“Calm yourself, Young Trust. I’m asking if you would like to come with me to the front. Decide quickly. The Lord Regent of Stormwind is expecting my return within the hour.”

Khadgar can hardly believe it. “Of course I would like to come!” He trips over his words in his excitement, and as he stares at Medivh in shock, realization seeps into his bones. He shouldn’t be so eager to run off to war, but he can’t help it. “I mean, uhm, are you sure, sir?”

“Don’t doubt yourself, Khadgar. If you truly want to become a skilled and powerful mage one day, you will need more confidence.”

So, Khadgar tries to take Medivh at his word, to believe that this isn’t a mistake. If Medivh asked him to come along, then surely he must believe that Khadgar is ready to fight. Unless, of course, the war is already over and the threat on the front is nonexistent.

In any case, Medivh hurries him along preparing for the journey. Cook prepares them both a take-away meal for their travels, and Moroes tries to keep Khadgar’s spirits high as well.

“Look after Medivh, would you? He has a tendency to get in over his head I’m afraid.”

Confidence can certainly be dangerous, and Medivh radiates his ego to those all around him like a blazing fire.

“I’ll do my best, Moroes.”

When he’s ready to head out, Khadgar heads up the main staircase to meet Medivh at the gryphon’s roost atop the tower. He finds the guardian standing beside a beautiful gryphon with white and grey feathers.

“You will ride her. She will know to follow me and I will take us both to the warfront.”

Khadgar fidgets nervously. He clutches his staff tightly in his fist and feels a sweat form on his brow. He’s clueless on how to ride gryphons. He has never flown before. But, surely it’s no different than riding a horse?

Medivh reads him like an open book. Whereas Medivh radiates his confidence, Khadgar still has an aura of awkwardness. He didn’t want to admit his lack of knowledge. He would have lied had Medivh not realized.

“Come here,” Medivh says with an exasperated sigh.

When Khadgar’s within arm’s length, Medivh presses a finger to his forehead, and suddenly he knows how to fly a gryphon, at least in theory. He’s aware of the spell Medivh used—arcane intellect. While the spell imparts knowledge, it does not create lived experience out of thin air.

“I didn’t have time to teach you manually, and she doesn’t do well having two passengers.” Medivh pats Khadgar’s cheek and then draws back. “Now, shall we get going?”

Before Khadgar has a chance to respond, Medivh has already transformed into a jet black raven. It’s the first time he’s seen Medivh as a raven since his travels to Karazhan, and he can’t help but feel lame all over again. He talked to that bird. Confessed his fears and worries, thinking it was perfectly harmless. He even invited the bird to come sit under his makeshift tent in the rain. Medivh probably thought he was an imbecile. Probably still thinks it, and the judgment’s fair, to an extent. Khadgar may be as naive, hopeless, reckless, and nosy as his old teachers in Dalaran described him as. What he has done, however, what no other Kirin Tor apprentice has done thus far, is remained for longer than a handful of days at Karazhan. There’s nothing in his life that makes him feel more confident, more proud, and more terrified than this fact.

So Khadgar swallows his fears and gets into the saddle atop the gryphon. He takes a deep breath and then clicks his tongue, commanding the bird to take to the skies and fly after Azeroth’s guardian.

_I won’t let you down, Medivh._


	5. Costly Mistakes, Painful Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of the most important lessons one can learn also happen to be the hardest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Thanks for tuning in again, we appreciate it!

The moment Medivh sees smoke on the horizon, he knows the situation on the warfront has grown worse in his temporary absence. The orcs have begun to raise homes and villages. They tried so hard to prevent the invading armies from breaching the lands of Duskwood and Redridge, but these efforts have been for naught. He was gone for merely half a day. He knows Lothar is trying his damndest, he knows the armies of Stormwind will fight to their last breath. Even some civilians have done their part too in fighting off the invaders. It’s not enough—not when the orcs use terrible magics and are driven by their bloodlust.

Stormwind has to do so much more than this. He must do _more._

Shrill cries ring out from beneath them, drawing Medivh away from his worries to focus on an immediate problem. He scans the scorched valley and sees a horse racing through the charred woods, dragging an empty cart along. A group of civilians follow after it, desperately trying to catch up to the frightened beast as they run from a band of orcs.

Medivh flies around Khadgar’s gryphon and gestures with his beak toward the scene below. Khadgar looks down at the racing civilians, eyes widening. Medivh recognized the caravan—it was owned by one of the family’s Khadgar helped on his way to Karazhan. This is far too dangerous for his apprentice, and it’s becoming too personal. So Medivh relays instructions back to Khadgar through a mental link he made when he transmitted the knowledge of how to fly.

_Khadgar fly north towards that tower! I’m going down to help the caravan. Do not engage with the enemy, do you understand? At the tower ask one of the soldiers for Commander Lothar. Tell them you’re the Guardian’s apprentice. Tell them the orcs broke through the northern guard._

“Are you sure that’s the best course of action, sir?”

Medivh can hear the quiver of doubt in the young man’s voice, but it’s not from fear. In fact, Medivh can sense Khadgar’s conviction and resolve, and that’s the problem.

“_You_ asked me to come out here, certainly I can do more than—“

“I gave you an order! You’re to fly north, out of harm's way. I expect to meet you at the tower. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Khadgar says after a resigned sigh. He pauses, his hands clenching the reigns of the gryphon with a white knuckled grip. He hesitates before instructing the bird to move. “Be safe out there.”

_And you especially, Young Trust._

Medivh dives down toward the civilians at incredible speed. Safe and cautious plays have never been Medivh’s strong suit. He watches as a young girl trips and falls over an overturned branch, crashing to the scorched earth below. Five orcs approach, raising their axes with mindless glee, and the girl braces for impact.

Medivh does not let the blades fall. He transforms mid air, falling from the sky, and unleashes a large volley of arcane missiles towards the attackers. The force of the bolts knock the creatures back, piercing their armor better than mere arrows ever could.

Medivh quickly turns to the girl and orders her to run, to return to her family. She scrambles to her feet, shaken but not beaten.

In her wake, Medivh creates a wall of fire behind him, cornering himself with the remaining orcs but preventing any of them from advancing. The heat of the fire isn’t oppressive; he welcomes its comforting presence. Medivh channels magic from the air around him, drawing in the latent energies of ley lines beneath Azeroth’s surface. Medivh looks back to the orcs, charged with the prismatic glimmer of the arcane, and he sees the raging fire reflected in their crimson eyes.  
Despite their dead companions, even the injured orcs seem unphased. He knows this—orcs do love the smell of their own blood. Good.

“Ah, hello there.” He smirks, and his green eyes begin to glow vibrantly. “I’m afraid we haven’t been acquainted—Medivh, Guardian of Azeroth.”

x X x 

Khadgar thought he would at least see the age of twenty before he met his fate. He thought he would graduate from the university of Dalaran. He thought he would see the day where his peers respected him as much as he respected them. He thought he would take on an apprentice of his own. He thought he would return to the family farm, and he would show his mother, father, and brothers first hand that he wasn’t a mage to be feared. He thought he would see more of the world. He thought he would fall in love with someone one day.

Instead, his gryphon is shot on their way to the Tower of Azora in Elwynn Forest, where he is supposed to meet Medivh eventually. They are falling out of the sky like a shooting star. Plummeting towards the ground, bound to become a splatter of blood and flesh on the earth was not what he imagined for his death. 

Time seems to blur, as if it’s slowing down. His thoughts wander. Khadgar wonders what it will be like—if there will be pain, or if he’ll find himself in the loving embrace of the Light. Will there even be a Light? Or will darkness meet him instead? He wanted to make his master proud. He hopes Medivh doesn’t take this hard. He couldn’t have known this would happen. He couldn’t have known that his apprentice would be shot down on his first day in the field. This is his own fault. If Khadgar was just a better mage, if he had only read _more_, studied _more_, then maybe he could have reacted quicker—

Time speeds up as Khadgar blinks away his doubts. 

_No. I will not give up like this. Medivh put faith in me. I’m his apprentice. He chose me. I promised to not let him down._

The gryphon, the powerful beast that she is, attempts to correct course despite being injured. Khadgar refuses to give in to despair for a second more—he extends his hand, flexes his fingers, and screams an incantation to slow the gryphon’s fall. Then, he holds fast to the reins and tries to guide the bird as they both brace for impact amidst the canopy of the forest below. 

They crash into a wide oak tree, and the impact causes the spell to break. The trees ease the rest of the fall, but Khadgar is forced off of the gryphon. He falls against the branches, ever downward, and along the way, his leg slams painfully against one of the thicker branches.

In a matter of seconds, Khadgar unceremoniously falls onto the hard, grassy earth. The tree managed to break his fall, but his entire body erupts with brutal pain. He tries to sit up, grimacing from the sudden jab of pain up his spine. At least he can still feel his legs, though he doesn’t dare look to see how mangled they are. Instead, his gaze falls to the gryphon laying beside him. With a shaking hand, he reaches out to touch the bird’s back. Thankfully, the gryphon weakly responds. Neither of them are dead. This is about as close to a miracle as he’s ever experienced.

So Khadgar slumps back, lays against the ground, and closes his eyes to brace himself against the urge to cry out from the agony. Someone shot them down, after all. The enemy could be anywhere. He takes slow, shallow breaths to not only stem the pain he feels, but also to not panic. There’s no way he can walk on his own.

Medivh will find him. Right? Medivh said he was his apprentice. Surely that means Medivh will check up on him if he doesn’t make it to the rendezvous.

_Tell them you’re the Guardian’s apprentice._

Despite the circumstances, the spoken confirmation that yes, he is indeed Medivh’s apprentice fills him with hope so powerful it almost counteracts the throbbing in his now swollen ankle and bleeding shoulder. He can’t help but smile to himself, almost giddy. He’s Medivh’s apprentice. The _only_ one.

Khadgar opens his blue eyes, stares up into the trees, and feels the warm trickle of sunlight on his face. Birdsong echoes throughout the forest. If it wasn’t for the fact that a war is taking place, the forest could almost feel enchanted—until a twig breaks.

Khadgar blinks and positions himself to look for the origin of the sound. To his horror, he sees two orcs have entered the small clearing. One carries a large, unwieldy battleaxe, and the other carries a longbow with a quiver on his back.

All pretense of stealth has vanished. The orcs advance, but Khadgar reacts quicker this time. With a yell, Khadgar creates a barrier of ice to shield himself and his gryphon until help arrives.

The orcs don’t hesitate. Khadgar hears a blood-curdling roar as the orc with the axe begins to slam his weapon into the barrier with fury. Each clang of metal on ice reverberates throughout Khadgar’s entire being, vibrating with horrid intensity. He feels the recoil of every blow, and the orc doesn’t relent. Instead of discouraging his attacker, the fortitude of the barrier seems to entice him more and more after every strike.

Khadgar breaks out into a sweat despite the chill of the ice. He purses his brows, clenches his jaw, and focuses his attention solely upon maintaining the barrier, pushing past his bodily pain, moving beyond the limit he hit back in Karazhan. His hand shakes violently despite having turned completely blue from the cold. The adrenaline coursing through his veins is heady and powerful like ambrosia, and Khadgar prays to the Light it’s enough. It has to be. He cannot, _will not_ die like this! Not after what Medivh said, not after he’s _finally_ found a place he can call home...

Except the orcs have all the time in the world to wait for Khadgar’s strength to wane. Even then, the warrior’s determination is astounding—swing upon swing, and soon the ice begins to show fractal cracks. The barrier won’t last—_Khadgar_ won’t last.

So, there’s only one thing left to do. Medivh’s voice echoes in his head, urging him to act.

_Shift the barrier’s form into icicles and launch it!_

With an earth shattering wail, Khadgar forces the last reserves of his energy to shatter the barrier into a million shards of ice. Overpowered with raw arcane energy, he controls the trajectory of the shards and fires them like missiles towards his attackers in a split second.

Like a dying star, Khadgar feels the world begin to collapse in upon him. His vision blurs, and Khadgar closes his eyes to stop the burst of pain at his temple. The ringing in his ears drowns out the sound of his labored breathing. Khadgar tries to fight back against the darkness threatening to take him, but his strength is entirely gone. He closes his eyes, ready to give in, but a voice pierces the veil of eternal night clouding his thoughts. 

“Khadgar!”

Medivh. Medivh came for him. 

Khadgar registers the earth being displaced beside him, then the softness of robes against his heavy head as Medivh pulls him into his lap. There’s the sound of a cork popping, and then something’s pressed against his mouth, cool and insistent. 

“Drink. You must drink.” 

So Khadgar parts his lips with a low whimper, and then his head is tilted back, limp like a doll’s, and viscous liquid spills forth. The mana potion tastes delicious, intoxicating, like well made wine, but somehow better, because the moment it slides down his throat, every nerve in Khadgar’s body comes alive with pleasurable relief. He moans, and with a shaking hand, he grabs hold of Medivh’s wrist and demands more of the vial’s contents. The replenishment of mana helps Khadgar feel better, less like he’s on the brink of oblivion and more like he needs to sleep.

“Go ahead lad, make sure to swallow it all down.” A sigh, and then there’s the gentle swipe of fingers brushing hair out of his face. “Light knows you’ve earned it,” Medivh softly says. “You did well, Khadgar.” 

Khadgar doesn’t dare move anymore, let alone say anything, lest the moment be broken. He has never been praised like this before—this must be a dream or a hallucination. Yes, it certainly has to be, because Medivh would surely never hold him like this, comforting him. Khadgar didn’t know he was so starved for another person’s touch that a drug could induce so powerful of a fantasy. Best to savor how it feels being cared after while it lasts.

x X x 

Medivh sees the streak in the sky in the corner of his vision amidst battle with the orcs. He already knows what has happened before he spares a moment to turn his head fully. The gryphon has been shot out of the sky, taking Khadgar down with her. 

All pretense and flair ends. There’s no more time to show off. Not when his apprentice could be in serious danger. 

So, without wasting another breath, Medivh ends the lives of the marauding orcs by igniting their very blood, causing the creatures to overheat and explode, like living bombs. 

Medivh surveys the scorched clearing once more to ensure all of the orcs are truly incinerated. Then, in the blink of an eye, Medivh transforms once more into a raven. He flies off into the direction of the falling gryphon, breaking into the forest to race through the trees in search of his young apprentice—

Medivh can feel an echo of Khadgar, like a second presence in his body, his mind—Khadgar’s _alive_. He can sense how scared the young man is, but he can feel the pain radiating throughout his entire being, centering on his ankle. Khadgar probably couldn’t walk, likely injured from the fall. Anything roaming this forest could find him in such a vulnerable state and take advantage. He can almost hear Khadgar’s deep breathing, the racing of his heart, a whisper of the panicked thoughts running through the young man’s head. Medivh takes a deep breath, clears his thoughts, and focuses on finding Khadgar. 

From the first moment he sensed Khadgar, Medivh knew time was not on his side. He is able to find his location in the dense forest using what knowledge he has of Elwynn’s geography and the direction Khadgar was heading in. He accounts for the fall, and of course, there’s a bleeding font of mana in the air which can only come from one mage. 

Frustration courses through Medivh’s veins. Why hadn’t he accounted for something like this happening? How could he have been so naive as to think that Khadgar was untouchable? Khadgar was bright and eager, innocent and wide eyed, ready to prove himself, but what was Medivh thinking? Khadgar had not even graduated from Dalaran, and Medivh had nothing to show for his so-called status as Khadgar’s ‘teacher.’ 

_You let him out of your sight in the middle of a war._ Deep laughter resonates in his head. _Feeling careless, Guardian? What did you think would happen?_

Medivh blinks, and then there, in the grassy clearing, lies the broken body of his apprentice. Glassy shards of ice lay scattered about the glade, reflecting the cascading sunlight like prisms. The snow white gryphon rests crumbled at Khadgar’s side. Among the wreckage are the bodies of two orcs who are impaled with large, jagged spikes of ice. Medivh recognizes the spell—it’s what he asked Khadgar to do in the library nearly a month ago. What Khadgar’s done, however, pales in comparison to what they practiced. 

Medivh’s heart sinks to the bottom pits of his chest. 

_No, no, no! He cannot, he_ cannot _be…_

Medivh can’t even think about it. He rushes to Khadgar’s side, transforming back into a man. He places two fingers to Khadgar’s neck, searching desperately for a pulse. He finds a weak, stuttered one. Khadgar’s alive, but the lad’s in no state to move on his own. Medivh has seen the potential in Khadgar; he knew from the first moment he laid eyes on Khadgar that the latent mana that flowed through his veins was raw, uncontrolled, unfocused. It’s no wonder Khadgar overloaded in the midst of his desperate defense. 

Medivh cups Khadgar’s cheek. It’s cold, like death, and his skin is so pale. Shame rises like bile up his throat. He should have encouraged Khadgar to leave Karazhan more. He should have trained him more. 

Yet, there’s nothing that can be done about past failures. Better to learn the hard lesson than make the mistake again. 

“Khadgar,” he says softly, his heart clenching in his chest. He draws his thumb along Khadgar’s cheekbone. 

Khadgar leans into the touch, perhaps to seek warmth. He furrows his brow, moaning in pain, and his eyes are scrunched tight. He’s not unconscious, but he’s also not verbally responding. Medivh needs him to stay awake, to stay with him. Khadgar’s head grows limp, slouching against his arm. 

Medivh’s losing him. 

“Khadgar!” He cries out, desperately. He pats Khadgar’s cheek gently, trying to keep him present, conscious, in the moment. 

When Khadgar weakly opens his eyes, his pupils are blown wide, unfocused. He mumbles something incoherent, his voice so raspy. Medivh cradles Khadgar to his chest and then fishes into his pocket for his spare supply of mana potions. He tears off the cork and then helps Khadgar drink. 

“Drink. You must drink.” 

Khadgar can’t help but obey. Once the lad has had the first taste of mana on his tongue, he grasps blindly before him, latching onto Medivh’s robes with a shaking hand, tugging his master forward for more.

“Go ahead lad, make sure to swallow it all down.” Medivh sighs, and he can’t help but smile sadly. He brushes loose strands of Khadgar’s dark hair out of his face. “Light knows you’ve earned it,” he softly says. “You did well, Khadgar.” 

Time passes so slowly as Medivh triages Khadgar’s injuries. He’s no healer, but he has pushed himself past his limits before in the past. All he can do is stabilize Khadgar’s reserves. He can easily imagine how Khadgar must be feeling. He meant what he said; Khadgar did well, no thanks to his teacher. 

Heavy footfalls stir Medivh from his sullen thoughts. He grips Khadgar tight, and just as he’s about to ready a fireball, he sees the familiar gold and blue colors of an Alliance banner. Immediately, he relaxes, tension leaving his muscles. 

“We saw a gryphon fall out of the sky, and it wasn’t one of ours. Didn’t expect to see the Guardian himself here.” 

Anduin Lothar enters the clearing, dressed for battle in plate regalia. He pulls off his helmet, revealing long, dirty-blonde hair pulled back into a tail. and wipes the sweat from his brow. He extends a hand to Medivh, which he takes gratefully. 

“There isn’t much time to explain, Lothar.” Medivh nods toward Khadgar, who rests fitfully in his arms. “My apprentice needs medical attention now.” 

Lothar’s brows raise in surprise as his gaze falls to Khadgar, but he doesn’t question. “Of course. Our camp isn’t far from here.” 

Medivh glances down to Khadgar and smiles half-heartedly at him. “Calvary is here lad. I’m sure you’ve had your share of adventuring for now. It’s time to go home.”

“Home…” Khadgar murmurs softly. He starts to drift off, but then, with a jolt, he frantically grabs Medivh and cries out. “Wait, don’t forget Snowfeather! Please, she saved my life.” 

Snowfeather, now. Khadgar had gone and named the bird, already so attached to her. Normally, something so trite would have irritated Medivh, but he can’t help but find it charming, innocent. Khadgar truly cares for every asset in his army. 

“Well, you heard my apprentice. Can your soldiers handle her and perhaps have a healer look her over?”

“You’re just in luck,” Lothar says with a wry grin. “We have a druid from Kul Tiras who looks over our horses and gryphons. I’m sure she would be happy to help.” 

“Thank you. Khadgar will be most appreciative.” 

Lothar jogs off to speak with one of his men, and when he returns, he gestures toward the direction of the Tower of Azora.

“Alright, it’s handled. Let’s head back to camp and I can bring you up to speed on what’s going on.” 

Medivh holds Khadgar to his chest as he follows after Anduin. He tries hopelessly to not let his gaze fall too many times to the wounded young mage. If he lingers too long on the paleness of Khadgar’s face or on the spreading bloodstain on his blue coat, then Medivh will surely leave his apprentice in the care of Lothar’s men while he dispatches the remaining orc forces single-handedly, if he must. 

“You didn’t tell me you had taken on an apprentice, Medivh.” 

Medivh glances briefly toward Anduin, who raises a brow in curiosity. He feigns nonchalance. 

“Azeroth needs as many helping hands as she can receive. I thought it was time to make up for the Kirin Tor’s lack of instruction.”

“Ah, I see. Of course, sticking it to the council.” Lothar snickers and places his gauntlet upon his hilt. “Though, for what it’s worth, I think it’s about time you took on the responsibility. Take it from me, teaching can be rewarding.” 

“Khadgar has been a rather curious student, certainly.” 

“Looks thin, though. Are you feeding him?” 

Medivh snorts. “Of course. Moroes and Cook feed him plenty.” 

“A bit pale, too. Are you taking him out for walks?” 

“He’s not a pet,” Medivh says curtly. 

Lothar raises a hand in defense, but his eyes glimmer in the mid-day sun with mischief. “Relax, I’m merely teasing.” 

Silence falls upon the two old friends as they meander through the trees to reach the camp. Medivh glances down at Khadgar, who is indeed lightweight in his arms, though he knows Moroes and Cook do take care of him. However, Khadgar does look pale, and he has for the last month. The lad hasn’t had many opportunities to go outside and certainly not for a relaxing stroll he would need. 

Medivh can’t help but keep picking at the inflamed wound. He has been a horrible teacher. Khadgar has been nothing like the previous Kirin Tor students, and yet Medivh has failed thus far to instruct him on anything. Sure, the technique with the barrier was important, but the context of that entire day was wrong. Medivh wasn’t teaching Khadgar then—he was playing with him, like a pet. 

Medivh closes his eyes for a brief moment, and he realizes too quickly he has made another mistake. He lets his guard down in that flash of time, and the serpent coiled around his heart lets loose a barrage of mockery and malice. 

He opens his eyes and the horrid voice is gone. The stillness of the forest remains, accompanied by Khadgar’s wheezed breath. 

Lothar breaks the silence with a heartfelt sigh. He smiles at him and admits, “I mean it when I say that I think this could be good for you, Medivh. Healthy, even.” 

“Are you implying something’s wrong with my health?” 

“Well, you are getting up there in years, my friend. Sooner or later you’ll be growing a long wizard’s beard, like Antonidas.” Anduin keeps a straight face. “You’re competitive. You won’t let a younger man show you up.” 

Medivh huffs and contemplates turning the Alliance’s finest Regent-Lord into a sheep. But then, their shared seriousness cracks, and the two of them burst into laughter like old times. 

“What a pain in the ass you must be to your soldiers. Who keeps you in line?” 

“None other than King Wrynn himself.” 

“Please.” Medivh rolls his eyes. “We both know he enables you.” 

“Perhaps, but we all know who enables him—dearest Taria.” 

Two hours later, they arrive at the large camp, which has been set up as a defensible position around the Tower of Azora, south of Eastvale Logging Camp. Soldiers move about the camp in a hurry from tent to tent. 

“Take him to the medical tent. Tell Sergeant Barlowe who you are and that I’ve approved for Khadgar to be triaged enough to be moved back to Karazhan.” 

Medivh must look more weary than he thought, because Anduin places a firm hand on his shoulder. 

“He’ll be alright, understood?” 

It’s like the earth beneath his feet has stilled. Anduin has always been able to reassure, to lead, to be as honorable as an older brother to him since they were children. It’s no wonder others call him the Lion of the Alliance. Though much has changed between them—age, distance, duty—they have always been able to fall back into their comfortable friendship, knowing each other so well. 

“You do know gossip is going to run amuck about you two now, right? I fear the nobles shall tell tall tales about the young man who managed to convince the infamous Guardian of Azeroth that he should finally take on an apprentice. Do make sure you introduce him to Llane at some point—otherwise, I’m afraid you both will be receiving invitations for the Winter’s Veil ball in the coming months.” Lothar’s eyes glimmer with mischief. “And I know how you are with parties, Medivh. I’d hate for your new apprentice to see how you get after two chalices of wine and a few rounds of dancing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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